Work Text:
As Santa strolled through his workshop, he commented on the great work his Elves were doing.
“Good job on that Teddy Bear, Elf Number 107.”
“That Jack-in-the-box looks like it could be a little more springy, Elf Number 386.”
Once Santa reached the top of the stairs leading to his office, he turned around to address the elves.
“Keep up the great work everyone! It may be only July, but Christmas will be upon us before we know it.”
With that, he turned back around and enter his office to the sound of cheers. As the doors slammed behind him, another, vaguely familiar (and unwelcome, though he would never admit it) sound came to his ears.
“Hello Nicholas. Long time no see.” It was The Devil, sitting in the chair behind his office desk just as he had done 6 months prior.
“Hello Devil, it’s been a while, what can I do for you.”
The Devil stood up quickly, slamming his palms on the desk in front of him. “My choo choo broke. I came here to get it fixed.”
Santa blinked, puzzled by the request. Children would sometimes ask for replacements for broken toys, but rarely did he received a request to fix what was already broken. Plus, it was the middle of July, and The Devil had not made any effort to ensure he would be on the Nice List this year.
“What makes you think I can fix your choo choo.” he asked gently, not wanting The Devil to lose his temper and start breaking things.
The Devil simply sighed, crossed his arms and whined “You gave it to me. You must know how to fix it.”
Santa blink, incredulous. Did he seriously not know?
Santa walk forward with the intention of putting a comforting hand on The Devil’s should before thinking better of it. Instead he simply stopped in front of him, and keeping his voice calm, stated “Devil, I didn’t get you a choo choo. My gift to you was the joy of being nice. Remember?”
The Devil balked. “Don’t start with that crock! I delivered the gifts, just like I was suppose too. Then I got my choo choo. Deal done. Where else would it have come from?”
Santa resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation. It would not be a very jolly thing to do, after all.
“Devil, I was planning on getting you a choo choo. However, one of my talents is knowing what friends and family will be getting each other for Christmas. It’s how I avoid giving people redundant gifts, you see.”
“What does that have to do with anything!” The Devil scoffed, obviously not getting the hint. “Just fix my choo choo and be done with it.”
“Devil, I did not give you the choo choo, someone else did, and I’m sure they will be willing to it.”
The Devil rolled his eyes. “And who would be this mysterious gift giver. The choo choo fairy.”
Was he really this oblivious? Santa had a feeling simply telling the Devil that Henchmen made him the choo choo would not go over well. He had to make the realization for himself, and obviously some hand holding was going to be required.
Santa rubbed his chin and asked “Did anyone else know about your desire for a choo choo.”
“No! Why would I tell anyone about it.”
Santa sighed internally. Make that a lot of hand holding.
“Really! I seem to recall you had someone with you last we spoke.”
“That was just Henchman! He…” The Devil trailed off, finally making the connection.
“Well then Devil, if that is all, I’m sure that…”
The Devil suddenly straighten, a fire alight in his eyes. Then he erupted, flames surrounding him as he howled “You mean to tell me you made me go through all that non-sense for a choo choo you knew I was going to get anyway!”
Santa took a step back, raising is hands placatingly. “Your friend’s decision to get you a choo choo happened after the ritual took place. It was past the point of no return.”
The fire died down and The Devil turned around, crossed his arms, and muttered something along the lines of ‘not my friend’.
This time, Santa did put a comforting hand on the Devil’s shoulder. “Regardless, it’s time for you to return home. I’m pretty sure you’ll find a fixed choo choo once you get there.”
The Devil perked up. “Well, I see. It is getting late. Thanks for nothing.” The Devil slammed his pitch fork to the ground, disappearing with a poof.
Good riddance.